Just A Little Trip -- GiftFic
by ChequeRoot
Summary: This is a GiftFic for IceArrows1200, and dedicated to my brother Allen, "The Eagle" B. It features two OCs from my Nuclear Tetralogy: Antoine Radson, and Preston Tucci, with references to events from the previous stories. Antoine and Preston go on a much needed vacation, and have some very honest discussions about the nature of their relationship.
1. Chapter 1

**Standard Disclaimer.** I do not own the Simpsons, C. M. Burns, Waylon Smithers Sr, or any other characters from the Simpsons Universe This is a non-profit piece of fan fiction.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 _This is a gift-fic for **IceArrows1200** ; and dedicated to my brother **Allen ("The Eagle") B**. _

_I know I've taken a risk posting an all OC fic on here, but I have no regrets. I debated for quite some time whether or not to share this, then decided I would on the basis of the reason behind writing it in the first place. It is a shameless "ship-fic" between OCs_ **Antoine Radson** _and_ **Preston Tucci** _of my_ Nuclear Tetralogy _series. Much of it was inspired by my own long solitary walks on the beach, kicking coconuts, and thinking about life._

 _ **IceArrows** , my dear friend: your reviews and our discussions have encouraged me to write, and develop these OCs beyond the bawn of their role in the Nuclear Tetralogy. Thank you for encouraging me to pursue their relationship, and get to know them better. I owe you a debt of gratitude that I'm not sure I could ever repay, though hopefully this tale makes a start._

 _ **Allen** : Al, I love you, and I'm not afraid to say that infront of god and the entire internet. If I was stranded on a desert island, and could only chose one thing to take with, you'd be it. Thank you for introducing me to the phrase 'demisexual,' and I shamelessly admit a good deal of my own thoughts have been presented here. You've always been there for me, and wherever I roam in this wide world, knowing you're just a phone-call away has made all the difference._

 _Everyone else: if you came here expecting a traditional tale featuring familiar canon characters, you may be disappointed. At least one is referenced in dialogue, but ultimately, this is a tale written for two people, one who I have known for almost my whole life, and one who I have just met within the last few weeks. It's not the traditional fanfic in many ways, but I've poured a great deal of my heart into it. Read as you will, and judge me not for my content. After all, the internet is like the "wild west." As I tell my parents with every link I share: "judge not the writer by the subject of their work, and instead focus on the heart within."_

 _~ Muse_

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Another late night of meetings and loose ends. By the time Preston arrived home, it was already evening.

He dropped his satchel by the door and walked, more staggered to the kitchen. He sat down at the island, and put his head in his hands.

There was movement from the living room. Antoine detached himself from a chair where he'd been watching TV and ambled over to Preston, expression concerned. He took a sip from the short rock glass in his hand, and set it on the counter.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked.

Preston looked up and tried to manage a smile. "Just… tired is all." The dark circles under his eyes made his lean face look even narrower. His cheeks looked pinched.

Antoine dropped a hand on Preston's shoulder. "Here," he said, pushing the glass over to Preston.

Preston lifted it, and sniffed the amber liquid cautiously. The smell was indescribable. Not bad, but pungent, and not something he could pin down.

"Uhm, what is it?" he asked.

"Bee pollen, hibiscus and ginger kombucha," Antoine replied proudly. "It's good for you."

Preston slid the glass back without drinking. "Yeah," he gave Antoine a weak smile. "I don't think this is something kombucha's going to help; you know?"

Antoine's face fell.

Preston never refused his food. Maybe Preston would only take a courtesy mouthful, but he at least tried.

"Kombucha helps everything," he muttered sadly, sliding into a chair next to Preston. He draped an arm around his housemate's shoulder, and gave a familial squeeze. "Come on, Preppy. Talk to me. What's eating you?"

"There's a lot to it, running the plant you know," Preston replied. "Everything was pretty easy to step into, but now I'm having to take on a lot more of the direct decisions, and it's overwhelming some days. I worry I bit off more than I can chew. I'm not ready for this."

Antoine tightened his grip. "Of course you're ready. You're just feeling overwhelmed is all. It's understandable. Since you were cleared to go back to work, you haven't stopped. The closest thing to a day off was…" he paused, words trailing off. Antoine knew how much Preston hated to recall the incident at Burns' AlkaliStark installation. Some wounds, it seemed, took a long time to heal. Some scars, Antoine figured, would never fade.

He ruffled his hand through Preston's hair affectionately.

"You know what you need, Preppy?"

Preston sighed and gave him a tired look. "A change of careers?"

Antoine's hand stopped abruptly. "What? No! Jeeze. I was going to say 'a vacation.'"

"I can't take a vacation. I'm needed here, at the plant! That's part of being a leader."

Antoine snorted. "You know what I was always told?"

"What?" Preston asked sullenly.

Antoine's hand moved down to the back of Preston's neck, giving him a casual rub. "Well, I was taught that if a boss builds an organization that can't function without him, then he hasn't built himself a strong organization." Antoine paused and leaned back. "A good organization should be able to run without the boss for several days or so. Maybe longer." He shrugged. "Let Rowdy run things for a bit. She knows what she's doing. I mean, everything got along just fine when you and Dimas were gone…"

Preston's face contorted at the memory. He looked away.

Antoine silently kicked himself. Preston was so sensitive about the events of that day. Even the merest reference could make him withdraw.

Antoine slid his chair closer. "Hey, I'm sorry. I mean, I forget sometimes."

"How could you forget? You were there?"

Antoine pulled Preston against him. "I guess we just deal with things differently," he remarked, and took a sip of the kombucha.

"I guess," muttered Preston. "You get shot with an arrow and you're making jokes about it a week later. Me? Well… I guess there just doesn't seem to be many laughs around here for me."

Antoine gave Preston a friendly shake. "Don't go judging yourself against me. I'm irreverent, live-in-the-moment. It's how I cope with things. You? Well, you sit and stew quietly. You let things fester and brew, and then we're having this conversation; you know? So this is exactly why I think a vacation is in order, for both of us."

Preston managed a weak smile. "Okay, so let's say we did leave Rhonda in charge, are you really okay with a trip together? Where would we even go?"

"Hmmm, Rowdy's been there longer than I have. She knows the business. Heck, someday you should pick her brain. She might be able to give you a few pointers. If you want her to, of course," Antoine added, holding up his hands.

Preston lifted his head from his hands and leaned back in his tall chair. "To be honest, I don't really know her that well. I guess I should know her; she's one of my vice presidents and all, but I just haven't gotten the time."

"You don't get time, Preppy. It's not gonna come to you. You have to go after it with a club. Time's not a gift, it has to be made. If you don't wrestle it into submission once in a while, it'll run all over you and leave you wondering 'what the hell happened to my life.' And that, right there, is why I think you need to make time for a vacation with me.

Preston didn't smile, but his expression softened affectionately. "Now you sound like my therapist."

"Hah, I'm better than that, Preppy. I'm your best friend! So let's put in your days, and I'll help you pack!"


	2. Chapter 2

"Rhonda will be fine handling everything, but she respectfully asked me to replay a message."

"Oh really?" Antoine tilted his head. "And what was that?"

"It was, and I quote, 'Mister Tucci, please tell your personal assistant to stop calling me 'Rowdy.'"

Antoine made a dismissive sound. "Pah, like I care what she says."

Preston slid his carry-on bag under the seat in front of him. It was a several hour flight, and had the possibility to seem much longer. Preston eyed Antoine thoughtfully. "You should."

"Why?"

Preston afforded a slight smirk. "Because she's the Senior Vice President; and you are not."

"Yeah? Well I'm not exactly your assistant either." He buckled his seatbelt and folded his arms, annoyed.

Preston smiled slightly. "In many ways, you kind of are."

Antoine made a face. "Whaddaya mean?" he asked, crossing his arms.

Preston started ticking off points on his fingers. "Well, for starters you manage most of my incoming calls. You help coordinate meetings. When I ask you call someone back, you do…"

Antoine gave Preston a reproachful look. "I'm just doing that to help you out."

"You're still on the company payroll."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"When was the last time I needed the services of a pilot?"

Antoine looked at Preston for a moment, then started snickering.

Preston paled slightly, then blushed. "I simply cannot say anything to you, can I?"

Antoine continued to chuckle.

"You need boundaries," Preston announced as he grabbed a novel from his bag and stuck it onto the seat pouch.

Antoine shrugged. "Yeah? That's exactly what my therapist said."

Preston wrinkled his brow. "You're not seeing a therapist."

Antoine shrugged. "Not anymore."

"You did in the past?"

"You're not the only one who's ever seen a therapist, Preppy. I had to go see one… you know, before..." His voice trailed off. Antoine squared his shoulders and stared out the window, blocking any further discussion.

Preston started to ask a question, then thought better of it. He shut his mouth, shaking his head, and cracked open the novel he'd been reading. It was a contemporary fiction piece, ironically a romance novel. Not something trashy. Not a 'harlequin' novel. Preston enjoyed the emotional drama, but he could pass on the meaningless sex. The sex scenes didn't bother him, of course, but it wasn't what he wanted to read. He liked the tension, the suspense and "what ifs." It helped distract him from his heavy work life.

Antoine continued to stare pensively out the window as the plane took off and headed east.

After nearly an hour of silence, Preston broke it. He reached out, and placed a hand on Antoine's leg. "I didn't mean…" he began slowly.

Antoine turned, brushing a strand of his blue hair from his face. "Nah, it's okay. You didn't know."

Preston shrugged. "I don't know much about you, to be honest. I mean, I know what I see, but I don't know you," he explained, adding emphasis to the last word.

Antoine gave him a casual smile. "I had a therapist once. One of the things he said was I needed boundaries. Then I moved. The end."

"You told me you've always been in Plateau City," Preston noted.

Antoine's face darkened. "Yeah? Well, I moved a lot anyways, okay?"

Preston closed his book and gave Antoine a firm look. "Please don't start taking that tone with me. Why are you so defensive about this anyhow?"

Antoine's scowl deepened. "You really want to know?"

"Yes."

"Fine," Antoine closed his eyes for a minute. "I was in the system, okay. I got bounced from house to house like a hot potato. And by the time I was in my teens, no one wanted me. I stopped going to school. So I got sent to therapy. Then I got old enough to emancipate myself, so I did. I finished trade school, got my GED, and decided to finish my pilot license because in one of the families I lived with the dad was a pilot, and the only time I ever really felt at peace was when I was in the air. So, now you know. Foster kid with a shitty, fucked up background, and I don't like talking about it. There you go." He turned his back to Preston and crossed his arms tightly over his chest as he stared out the window.

Preston's hand hovered millimeters above Antoine's shoulder as he debated what to do next. It was all quite the bombshell to him. It was true, he'd known nothing of Antoine's childhood, and the man didn't have any family photos out, but that hadn't seemed significant until now.

Finally, Preston reached a decision.

He laid his hand gently on Antoine's shoulder, and coaxed him around. "Antoine," he began softly.

"Hmmm?"

"I'm sorry; no, I truly am. I didn't mean to pry. It's none of my business. I just thought… well, I don't know what I thought, but I'm sorry to upset you."

Antoine smiled distractedly. "Hey, it's okay, right? I mean, so it's not something I talk about. Big deal. I'll get over it. I suppose you probably would've found out one way or another, you being so clever and all." He gave Preston a gentle poke in the thigh. He would've aimed for the ribs, but Preston was still, even months later, rather tender from the bullet wound he'd received. Apparently, that sort of think took a long time to heal on the inside.

So too, apparently, did a rough childhood.

Antoine smiled, a bit of his old roguish humour returning.

"It doesn't change who I am, and I'm still going to keep calling Rhonda 'Rowdy.'"

Preston smiled, relaxing.

"You really shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"She's a fifty year old career woman with a personality as serious and dry as the annuls of history itself. You might get away with calling me 'Preppy,' but 'Rowdy doesn't fit her one bit."

Antoine grinned and held up his hands. "I mean it ironically!"

"No," Preston admonished. "It's not irony. You're being disrespectful."

Antoine winked. "Hey, boundaries! I don't get them."

Preston didn't hesitate as he draped his hand across Antoine's thigh. "Then I guess I'll have to put them down for you."

Antoine's eyes flickered to Preston's hand.

"Would you?" He gave an impish smirk. "Because I might just like that." He winked, and made a kissing motion with his lips.

Preston blushed and looked away, but he didn't remove his hand. "Geeze, Antoine. You have to always make things awkward, don't you."

Antoine beamed and held up a finger. "Remember: boundaries! I no haz them!"


	3. Chapter 3

Preston followed Antoine over to the small bungalow he'd reserved. The smell of the briny air filled his nostrils. It reminded Preston of a saltier Hudson River scent.

"Ah," Antoine exclaimed as he dropped all their bags in the living room. "Love that smell! There's few places I'd rather be than at the beach." Antoine opened his bag and began digging through. "Gotta find my trunks!" he remarked.

Preston watched silently as Antoine made a complete mess of whatever neat packing he'd attempted earlier. He finally pulled out a pair of blue patterned trunks, and crammed everything else back into his bag.

"Grab your shorts, Preppy, we're going swimming!"

Preston sighed hauled his suitcase into one of the bedrooms. He set it on the bed, and unzipped it, carefully looking through his neatly rolled clothes. "We just got here, how about we relax a little first."

Antoine's voice came from the bedroom next door. "We are relaxing."

"I meant maybe we could sit down for a few minutes or something."

"You hungry?"

Preston shook his head. Never a big eater at the best of times, he'd had even less of an appetite than usual. He found his trunks, a simple grey pair he hadn't worn in years, and a tee shirt. Preston shut the door and changed. He caught his reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the door, and sighed inwardly. The white scar on his left side was clearly visible, a dent in his otherwise unmarred skin, with a larger matching depression in his back where the bullet had exited. He ran his fingers over the scars and frowned.

He couldn't particularly consider himself much to look at, he thought as he dressed. Skinny, pale, and now with a large divot missing out of his back. Antoine seemed to almost take some sort of perverse pleasure in his scars. _I got shot with an arrow_ , he'd crow pulling down the collar of his shirt to show nearly anyone whenever the topic of old wounds came up. Preston couldn't boast the same. He kept his torso covered, and never spoke of it to anyone.

His self-reflection was ruined by an impatient knocking. "You fall asleep in there or something? Come on, Prep, let's go!"

Preston pulled his light teeshirt over his head. "I'm coming," he replied distantly.

Antoine was pacing the living room, practically quivering with excitement. "This'll be great! We'll get a swim in, that water'll feel wonderful."

Preston wrapped his towel around his neck and followed Antoine. "I'm not much of a swimmer," he admitted.

"Swimming's easy!" Antoine held the door for him.

"I'll sink."

"It's salt water. Everyone floats in salt water."

Preston followed rather reluctantly.

Antoine was already off the porch, and capering about impatiently on the sandy path that cut down to the ocean.

"It'll be cold," he protested.

"That water's been baking under ninty-degree sun all day."

Preston paused, fussing with the drawstring of his trunks. "I'll get sunburnt."

A tube of sun tan lotion whizzed through the air, nearly hitting him. "Watch it," he snapped as he fished it out of the sand at his feet.

"I wasn't going to hit you," Antoine replied, grinning. "If I'd wanted to, I would have. SPF five hundred and twelve, baby!"

Preston looked at the label. It read SPF 80. Preston suppressed a smile. "You exaggerated a little."

Antoine shrugged. "Yeah, well, if you put that on, you won't burn."

Preston squeezed some of the lotion into his hands and rubbed it across his arms and neck.

"Don't forget your face," Antoine added. "And if you need help with your back, let me know." He did a little have pivot in the air, kicking from foot to foot. "Now come on! Let's go already!"

Preston smiled inspite of himself as Antoine bounded over, grabbed him by the arm and half-dragged him forward. "You have an answer for everything, don't you Antoine," he observed.

Antoine flipped his blue hair back and smiled charmingly. "I try; right?"

Preston gently pried Antoine's fingers from his arm. "You do; yes. No one could ever deny that." He followed Antoine down the path through the dune grass, and onto the beach.

The Atlantic ocean, technically the Gulf of Mexico. The water wasn't the Caribbean blue that Preston was expecting, nor was it the harsh grey of the North Atlantic. It was a coppery green, blue at the horizon, and almost tan near the shore. The waves came, rough breakers in all different sizes, some capping away from the shore, others curling up when they hit the sand.

Antoine pranced ahead, his blue hair swirling in the salty breeze.

Preston watched him. Antoine wasn't thin; he wasn't fat exactly, but he had a soft paunch that suggested he might want to start making healthier food choices someday.

Antoine was strong, but not chiseled. Husky, Preston thought, would probably be the best word for him.

His shoulders were surprisingly broad, arms muscled from carrying his mechanic's tool box. He'd told Preston once that his tool kit weighed about seventy five pounds. Preston had seen it; Preston believed it. That, and the effortless way Antoine swung all their luggage up and carried it through the airport solo only supported the theory.

Antoine's legs, like his arms, were similarly built. The man had thick calves and powerful thighs, the product of physical work but not deliberate exercise. Preston had seen him wearing shorts enough times to know this. Still, Antoine in nothing but swim wear was a novel view.

Antoine paused a few yards away from the shoreline and dropped his rolled towel in the sand. He tossed a large rock on top of it, and dropped the suntan lotion next to the rock. He turned and grinned at Preston. He made a _hurry up_ motion with his arm.

Preston picked his way carefully across the hot sand, his sensitive feet prickling from the heat. He set his towel down next to Antoine's, and pinned it down with another rock. He removed his glasses, and slipped them into their zippered case. He followed Antoine down to the water, wincing as his feet stepped on the broken shell fragments in the sand. It didn't hurt exactly, but it was unpleasant.

At the edge, Antoine paused and waited. Preston caught up, and stood next to him, toes on the wet sand. Antoine clapped Preston heavily on the shoulder, and bounded into the wake. "Come on," he insisted.

Preston hugged his arms across his thin chest and stepped tentatively in.

Antoine had been right; the water wasn't cold. It wasn't bath water, but it was warmer than he'd expected. He followed, arms still clutched around himself.

The water grew rapidly deeper. "There's a sandbar up ahead," Antoine coaxed. He indicated with his head.

Preston followed, wincing when a particularly high struck his thighs and abdomen. "It's a little cool," he admitted, catching up to Antoine.

Antoine looked him up and down, making Preston feel mildly self-conscious. "You just need to put some meat on those bones of yours, Preppy," he remarked decisively.

They stood in silence for a moment on the shallow sandbar. The waves crested ahead of them, pushing in surges of water, but leaving them mostly splash-free. Antoine turned his body sideways against the current. Preston watched, then did likewise.

"I love the beach, you know," Antoine remarked, looking out over the empty horizon. "Most perfect place in the world, I think. I try to get down here at least once a year. Twice if I can manage it."

Preston chewed the inside of his lip thoughtfully. "Antoine, can I ask a question?"

"In addition to that one?"

"Haha, wiseguy," Preston replied. Antoine and his smart remarks. "But how did a Plateau City native like yourself, growing up as you did, wind up discovering the ocean?"

Antoine gave him a wicked smile, eyes twinkling. He beamed. "Well, one of the families I stayed with, large rich family, they decided they were going to take a vacation in Hawaii. Naturally, they didn't want to pay for me to come along. They wanted to send me to respite while they were gone."

"'Respite?'" The word sounded foreign to Preston's ears.

"Yeah. It's like: send the kid back to the home so mommy and daddy can get a break. Usually it's just for a few days. Rarely more. They wanted to go for over a week, and respite said 'no.' So they had to take me along."

A strand of Antoine's hair had blown across his face. Preston absentmindedly reached up and tucked it back behind Antoine's ear.

"So, anyhow, they had to take me. They weren't happy about it, and neither was I at first."

"No?"

"Nah. I mean, they had a lot of money. I think adopting a foster kid was mostly grandstanding on their part." He raised his voice, took on a mocking pitch. " 'Oh, look at us, we're so good and kind and we donate to charity, and look, we even adopted a shelter kid after having three of our own. Aren't we wonderful white people!' Yeah, I think that was pretty much how it was for them. I never felt like family, and they didn't really try to change that. But I also already had a reputation at that point, so yeah…" Antoine shrugged. "Anyhow, long story made short, I got dragged around with them for the better part of the week, then on our last full day there I ditched them, got a cab down to the beach, and spent the day hanging out with the surfers."

Preston felt both awed, and embarrassed at the same time. "What happened next?"

Antoine gave a flippant shrug. "Oh, eventually they found me around sunset. The cops and my foster parents showed up. They took me back to the hotel, and then I was back the home the next week because they were done dealing with me." Antoine leaned in and whispered behind his hand. "But between you and me, Prep, it was totally worth it. They were so pissed!" He grinned, took a step back and kicked a wave at Preston.

Preston tried to block the water. "Hey, no splashing!" he snapped, annoyed.

"Sometimes you just gotta take a chance and do something. If I hadn't, I never would've discovered how much I love the ocean." He put his hands on his hips and stared out at the waves. "These waves, they're not much for actual surfing. But I'll teach you how to ride them on your belly."

Preston felt Antoine's warm rough palm cover his. "Come on! I'll teach you how to body surf."

Preston let himself be dragged to the end of the sandbar, where Antoine released his hand.

A large wave was coming in, cresting as it approached. Antoine coiled his body and leapt in an arching dive over the breaking crest. Preston had time to catch a quick glimpse of Antoine's backside and the soles of his feet before he vanished into the foam.

Preston turned his body sideways, sheltering his face as the wave broke around him.

Antoine's blue head popped up, seal like, several yards away. "Come on!" he yelled once again. "The water's great!"

Preston took a deep breath, held it, and dove in.


	4. Chapter 4

Preston felt the raw power of the wave as it broke above him. His hands touched the sandy bottom, and he pushed upward blindly. With a sweeping, foamy sound his head tore through the surface of the water. He exhaled, wiped his face, and squinted at Antoine who lay bobbing in the waves a few feet away.

"See?" Antoine beamed, "it's not so bad."

Preston put his feet down, and connected with the smooth ocean bottom. He tried to stand up, but a large swell several feet high lifted him off his feet and pushed him sideways. He floundered, and tried the process again, with similar results.

Antoine paddled noisily over to him.

"Stop trying to stand. You'll only make yourself tired. Just kick back and relax. Let the water do the work."

Preston watched as Antoine glided in a circle around him, lazily rolling over as he went. Preston felt a wet hand on his back. "You know," came Antoine's voice from behind him, "a wet shirt really doesn't offer much protection from the sun. You probably should've put sunscreen on your back."

There was a _sploosh_ as Antoine dove under.

Preston felt the currents swirl past his side as Antoine surfaced in front of him, bright eyes open, blinking away the salt water. He flicked some water at Preston, the droplets falling short.

Preston's mind was still miles away, back in Plateau City. Distractedly, he thought of the plant and all the work he wasn't doing. He wondered if Rhonda would be able to handle it. He didn't want to doubt Antoine, but his conscience was not letting him relax without a fight. He wiped the water from his face, and paddled weakly.

He expected, as he usually did, to sink like a stone to the bottom. Much to his surprise, he didn't. He wasn't floating like the cork that Antoine was, but his head and neck were comfortably above the waterline. His body rose and fell with the waves, but, like Antoine had suggested, once he stopped fighting the current he wasn't getting pummeled by it.

Preston rolled onto his back and stuck his feet out. His toes popped out of the waves. He wiggled them thoughtfully. Antoine was drifting a few feet away, watching him, expression unreadable. Preston couldn't keep meeting those eyes. He closed his own, tilted his head, and floated on his back, ears under the water.

Preston had expected the water to roll over his face. Instead the water moved his body gently with each rise and fall. The sunlight beat down on his upturned face. All he could hear was the splishing of the water against his head. And he wasn't sinking. He breathed slowly, letting his mind drift.

Images, unbidden, flashed through his mind. There was his office at the nuclear plant, the boardroom and meetings. His weekly inspections of the so-called 'factory floor.' His inability to delegate for fear of someone else dropping the ball and everyone blaming him. He remembered how Dimas used to come and go as he pleased without a care, and his stomach dropped a pitch. Dimas was dead. Preston saw all too clearly the incidents of AlkaliStark. He hadn't seen Dimas die, he'd been mercifully unconscious for that. Then there was Antoine…

Antoine had been there for that last one too. He'd actually seen Dimas die.

Preston felt his back tighten. He stretched his arms out, and fought the feeling. _Relax_ , he muttered to himself, _relax_.

Antoine had been through at least as much as he had, and yet he shrugged it off and kept going. _Like water off a duck's back_ , Preston thought pensively. Preston's mind focused on Antoine. How did Antoine manage to keep going as if he hadn't a care in the world? By all logic, it should be Antoine who was seeing a therapist, not him. _And it should be Antoine who needs to take a Xanax at night to help himself fall asleep, not me_ , he thought as he floated.

No, scratch that. Antoine would never take Xanax, even if a doctor prescribed it. He didn't want to do anything that might jeopardize his flying career. Heck, Antoine rarely even drank alcohol.

Preston would've pegged Antoine for a regular beer drinker, but no; Antoine rarely ever imbibed _. Gotta be clear for at least twenty four hours before flight_ , Antoine explained one day over a bottle of wine they hadn't shared.

 _We're not going anywhere_ , Preston countered.

Antoine held up a hand. _But we might be. So it's not worth it. Thanks, but no thanks. He'd smiled_ , and poured himself some more home brewed tea.

Antoine didn't know about the Xanax, Preston reflected as he drifted. He hadn't felt comfortable discussing things with Antoine, especially not how much damage "the Incident" had done to his head. His doctor had prescribed Alprazolam, Xanax, to help him deal with the panic attacks he tried to keep hidden from the rest of the world. Compared to resilient and outgoing Antoine, Preston felt weak… and rather small. He was glad to have Antoine sharing his days at the plant, cheering him along, and gamely helping out with the trivial details.

Well, Antoine considered them trivial. Phonecalls, scheduling, that sort of stuff. His help proved invaluable to Preston, left him free to focus more on the actual administration side of things. Preston knew he wouldn't have recovered half as quickly – physically or mentally – without Antoine's presence at his side. Even just sharing lunch in the office together did wonders for Preston's head. He didn't even want to image what a wreck he'd have been if he still lived in his tiny apartment, alone.

 _Probably take a nice stay in a mental hospital_ , he thought. At the worst moments, such an idea didn't sound half bad. Some people might think of it as a prison. At his lowest, it sounded to Preston like a week's vacation full of nice tranquilizing drugs. It sounded relaxing, healing.

Preston had to admit though, this water was pretty curative as well. It was nice to rest, weightless, rolling gently with the swells. If it wasn't for the occasional splashes across his face, one could almost fall asleep out here.

He felt the sun warming his face. He realized he had no idea how much time had passed since he'd flipped on his back. He realized he didn't care. He could sense the tiny muscles around his eyes and forehead relax their hold, felt himself gently slipping away. His lips curled slightly, not quite a smile, but close.

* * *

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Antoine asked as he toweled off.

Preston smiled. "I actually liked it."

"I thought you would." Antoine draped his towel around his shoulders. "So, dinner or…?"

Preston shrugged. "I'm not really hungry yet. Maybe just sit and read a bit?"

Antoine shrugged. "Hey, it's your vacation! Whatever you want, Preppy!" His hand found Preston's shoulder, and remained there for their entire walk back to the bungalow.

"I'm going to take a shower," Preston remarked, reluctantly detaching himself from Antoine's reach as the stepped onto the porch.

Antoine shook out his towel and draped it over the railing. "Why?" He gestured to the ocean. "That water's cleaner than anything you're probably going to find anywhere else."

Preston ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe, but it makes my hair and skin feel weird."

Antoine rolled his shoulders. "Whatever. Just know the water here is hard water itself, so you'll still feel a little salty." He ran a hand through his blue locks. "Me, I kinda like the feeling. It gives my hair great body."

Preston glanced over at Antoine and smiled. His cheeks reddened, then he looked away suddenly.

Antoine wrinkled his face. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. I guess I'm a bit surprised you've never tried to dye your chest hair blue."

Antoine peered at his chest in befuddlement. "Why? Do you think I should?" He raised his eyes. "I could dye all my hair blue! Be a natural tealhead!" He gestured grandly, indicating his entire body. "What do you think?"

Preston regarded Antoine, most deliberately keeping his gaze chest height or above.

"I think that might be a bit much." ( _And who'd ever see?_ , he added quietly in his own head.)

Antoine tapped his hands together. "Well, suit yourself. I'm going to go sit on the porch, maybe catch some sun while you rinse off; okay?"

Preston wrapped his towel around his waist. "Whatever you want, Antoine. It's your vacation too."

"Nah," Antoine replied over his shoulder. "I tend to take my own vacations. This week, Preppy, this is all about you." He gave Preston a wink, and slipped outside, pulling the screen door shut as he went.


	5. Interlude

Antoine heard Preston get out of the shower and head into his bedroom, heard the door shut as Preston got dressed. Always one for modesty, Antoine reflected.

Antoine wouldn't exactly call himself immodest. One of the biggest changes he'd had to get used to, living with Preston, was not to walk around naked after taking a shower. It wasn't something he'd had to think about before. For Preston's presumably tender sensitivities, he'd taken to making sure he at least wrapped a towel around his waist.

The bedroom door opened, and he heard Preston move into the living room and sit down on the couch. Antoine raised his head. He'd had enough sun for a while. He grabbed the bottle of water he'd rolled under his chair, and went in.

Preston was indeed sitting on the couch, nose in a book. His brown hair was rumpled and damp, but dry enough to not be dripping on anything.

Antoine grabbed the remote to the TV, and flopped down on the far end of the couch. He pivoted his body lengthwise, and draped his ankles across Preston's lap.

Preston raised the book, but didn't take his eyes off the page. "Really," he remarked. It wasn't a question.

Antoine smirked from where he sprawled, arm along the back of the couch. "Oh, is this one of those boundary things I'm always hearing about?"

"No," replied Preston as he turned a page. "This is one of those 'I don't like feet' things."

Antoine gave an exaggerated sigh and slid his ankles off Preston's thighs. "Fine," he said with mock-sulkiness. He pivoted around, slid his body next to Preston's, draped his feet over the far armrest, and dropped his head in Preston's lap. "Is this better?"

Preston cast a quick sidelong glance out of his eye, then returned his focus to his book. "Marginally," he replied carefully, "but not by much." He rested his elbow on Antoine's chest and turned another page.

"Am I invading your personal space?" Antoine asked.

Preston closed his book and looked down into Antoine's smiling face. Preston put on as neutral an expression as possible. "No," he replied slowly, "but you are interfering with my reading."

"Because I'm here?"

"No. Because you keep talking."

Antoine's smile softened, morphing from teasing to sleepily content. "Oh, okay then. That's nice…" his voice trailed off and he closed his eyes.

Preston paused, book still closed, and regarded his friend thoughtfully. He resisted every urge to reach down and stroke Antoine's brine-styled hair. Instead, he smiled softly, moved his book to his other hand, and dropped his free arm across Antoine's chest. Preston resumed reading. Several pages later, his fingers moved of their own accord, reaching across Antoine's throat, and twirling a strand of blue hair around a finger as he read. He wasn't even aware of the act himself, but Antoine purred softly, like a large blue cat, and stretched his neck out to allow Preston a better reach.


	6. Chapter 6

Antoine sat at his laptop, typing quickly.

Preston slid over next to him. "What are you up to?"

"Just talking with Waylon," Antoine replied. "I hadn't seen him online in a while. I sent him a message earlier. He's online now."

Preston paused to glance at the screen before moving into the kitchen. "Tell him I said 'hi.'"

"I will." Antoine typed a few lines quickly, and hit "send." Antoine waited a few minutes, then sent another message back. "He says 'hi' back at you." More typing. "You know, I always thought you and Waylon would become best friends or something."

Preston gave a snort. "He's a nice guy, but he's more your friend than mine."

"Yeah…" Antoine's voice trailed off.

"He's a really easy going person."

Antoine laughed. "I guess you've never ridden with him while he's driving, eh?"

Preston shook his head as he fixed himself a sandwich. "No. I can't say that I have. When did you?"

"While you were at the hospital, after the… you know." Antoine chuckled. "He's a nice guy, but he can be a classist ass too. It's awesome, really. You should hear the things he yells when his road rage really gets going." Antoine chuckled.

"Like what?" Preston asked, curious.

"Oh, stuff like 'get off the street and go back to your lower income tax bracket, wage slave.' Stuff like that."

Preston afforded himself a snicker. "That's kind of funny actually."

Antoine typed a few more lines then paused. "Yeah, I thought so." He was silent a moment. "Hey, did you know old man Burns proposed to him?"

Preston carried his sandwich and milk into tiny dining area. "How would I know that?"

"I thought maybe you guys chatted."

"Not that often," Preston admitted with a shrug. "I used to, but lately I don't really feel like I've got much in common with him, that's all."

"Yeah… You've been pretty reclusive lately. You've probably got more in common with Burnsie."

Preston gave Antoine an indignant remark. "Hey!"

"What? You both run nuclear plants? You're both Ivy League graduates, you tend to withdraw from people when stuff's on your mind…" Antoine began counting points on his fingers. "You sounded like I insulted you."

Preston paused, thinking of Burns. "I guess I thought you were going somewhere else with that."

"Hmmm," replied Preston noncommittally. He fired a few more lines back and forth, then leaned back from his computer. "Yeah, he was in a pretty bad car accident about two weeks ago. Totaled the car, I mean, absolutely destroyed it."

Preston froze, sandwich halfway to his mouth. "My god! Is he okay?"

Antoine nodded. "He got a few scrapes and a nasty concussion, was out unconscious for nearly a week. When he came to, Burns was waiting at the bedside. Then shortly after, Burns proposed to him."

"Proposed, like marriage?"

Antoine nodded. "Sounds like it."

Preston munched on his sandwich thoughtfully. "I didn't realize they were a couple."

Antoine held his hand out, thumb and pinky finger extended. "Ring, ring." He raised his hand and held it to his ear, pantomiming answering a call. "Hello? Yes, he's here." He extended his hand to Preston. "Clue phone: it's for you!"

Preston took a sip of his milk. "Very funny," he said sarcastically.

Antoine smiled, the picture of innocence. "What? You can't tell me you didn't get that vibe, right?"

Preston took another bite of his sandwich, his expression intense. "I wasn't thinking about them. I was rather preoccupied with everything else."

Antoine nodded. "Right. But you can't tell me you didn't get a whole slew of 'sexual tension' issues from them over dinner at NAAECon in Albany, right?"

Preston finished his mouthful of sandwich and swallowed before replying. "As I recall, someone decided it would be a good idea to order me Long Island iced teas. I was not at my best."

Antoine started to laugh, then caught Preston's reproachful expression and quickly covered his mouth with his hand. He could not, however, contain the mirth from filling his eyes. "One," he hooted. "I only ordered you one. After that, it was all you." Antoine recalled the night, and his expression fell. Dimas had been furious. It had been funny, sort of; but not really. "Waylon really went to bat for you," Antoine remarked, remembering.

Preston nodded. "He did."

"I guess I kinda hoped you two might get along better after that."

Preston shrugged. "I like him. He's a good friend. I'm just never sure what to talk about with him. Like you said, I probably have more in common with Burns than him." Preston hung his head.

Antoine winced. "I didn't mean it the way you make it sound."

Preston looked down at the table. "I'm not trying to make it sound like anything."

Antoine shut the cover of his laptop, and regarded Preston with a mixture of concern and confusion. "What's wrong?" He finally asked.

"Nothing. It's just… it's nothing."

Antoine decided to change tactics. "Is that all you're eating tonight? A peanut butter and jelly sandwich?"

"Just peanut butter," Preston replied. "And a glass of milk."

"Nope, that'll never do." Antoine shook his head. "Tell you what, I'm going to take you out to my favorite seafood place. They have the most amazing fish, shellfish, whatever you want. It's caught local. Never been frozen." He stood and sauntered over to Preston, taking the empty plate and cup to the kitchen.

"You'll love it, Preppy."

Preston slowly detached himself from the couch and grabbed a lightweight over-shirt from his closet.

Antoine smiled. "They have a great wine list too. I'm sure we'll find something we can enjoy." He slid on a pair of sneakers, and began buttoning his Hawaiian shirt, starting at the bottom and working towards the collar.

"You don't usually drink," Preston observed.

"I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be flying the _Little Diva_ anywhere in the next twenty four hours." He gave Preston a wink. "I think we're safe."

* * *

Preston slid into a booth, and Antoine slid in beside him. Preston flinched slightly. "Aren't you going to sit over there?"

Antoine tilted his head, perplexed. "Why?"

"People might get the wrong idea," Preston replied quietly, making a furtive glance around the restaurant.

Sometimes Preston's hang-ups perplexed Antoine, but he'd learned to let it go. Acceptance was usually easier than understanding. He gave Preston's back a quick pat, then stepped out and sat on the other side. "Fine, fine," he muttered, "but as your hetero-lifemate I don't see why it should matter." He smiled charmingly at Preston, waiting to see the affect his words had.

"My what?" Preston whispered in a hiss.

Antoine leaned forward and dropped his elbows on the table. "You heard me. Why, you have a problem with my word choice, Preppy?"

Preston scowled and opened a menu. "Maybe," he replied quietly.

Antoine's lips curled up. "Really? Which word in particular?"

"I don't want to play this game right now."

Antoine shrugged. He leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. "Okay, fine. I'm just playing anyhow." He looked out the window, and tried to think of anything else. Nothing came to mind. The server came over, and Preston asked to see the wine list. _Predictable_ , Antoine thought gently. He pretended to watch the server as she walked, but his eyes flicked over Preston. _Poor guy_ , Antoine thought sadly, picking at his napkin. _He seems so lost_. He took a deep breath, held it for a second, and waited for his water. He'd never bothered to ask Preston a few questions that plagued his mind.

Water and wine arrived.

Antoine wasn't sure which he wanted to drink first. He decided on a sip from each.

"Since we're already on prickly topics, Prep, I have a question for you."

Preston folded his menu. "Oh boy," he muttered. "What now, Antoine?"

Antoine twirled his wine glass by the stem. "Your social media page…"

"Yes. What about it?"

"Well, you list yourself as in a relationship with a girl; but you never talk about her, and I've never seen you talk _to_ her."

Preston looked annoyed. "Are you seriously asking me that right now?"

"Now who's got a nasty tone. Yes, I am. And I want answers."

Preston took a sip of his wine. "Fine. It was for public perception, okay? Happy?"

Antoine stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Oddly, yes." He raised his wineglass. "Cheers?"

Preston shook his head, eyes tired but not unfriendly. "I should say 'no' on principle," he remarked slowly.

"But you're not going to."

Preston shook his head and lifted his glass. "You're right, I'm not."

They tapped glasses gently.

Antoine smiled proudly. "Thunder buddies for life!"

Preston laughed, perplexed. "Wait, what?"

"Oh, it's a quote from a movie. Don't worry about it. Cheers. To us, then." He nodded to Preston.

The thin and overwhelmed CEO shrugged. "To us." Preston took a long sip, and smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

On the way home from dinner, Antoine stopped at a liquor store and picked out a second bottle of wine. The one they'd shared at the restaurant had been a small bottle, about two glasses worth. Antoine thought they could do with a bit more.

Antoine drove them back, parked the car, and trotted back to the bungalow, bottle tucked in a bag under his arm.

Preston followed at a leisurely pace. "You're right," Preston remarked as they climbed the stairs to the porch, "the food was very good."

Antoine gave a flip of his blue hair. "Told ya," he replied, puffing out his chest proudly. "I've been coming to this same place for years. I know my way around the island." He held the door for Preston, then flopped down on the couch and kicked his shoes off. He put his bare feet on the coffee table, and folded his hands behind his head. The bottle of wine sat next to him.

"There's a corkscrew and some glasses in the cupboard," he announced.

"So now I'm waiting on you?" Preston made a face.

Antoine waved a hand dismissively. "Relax, Preppy. Bring those glasses and sit down."

Preston did so, but his face was slightly pinched. "You know, I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Do what?" Antoine looked up, puzzled.

"Talk to me like that."

"Like what?"

Preston uncorked the wine and poured them each a glass. "That giving orders sort of thing. You could've just said 'Preston, would you please grab a pair of wine glasses and the opener while you're out there?' Because you know I would've."

Antoine stared at his feet for a moment. "Yeah... I could've." He reached for a glass of wine, but Preston held both just out of reach.

"So why didn't you?"

"Why didn't I what?"

Preston's mouth tightened in irritation. "Don't play that game. You know. Why didn't you simply ask politely?"

Antoine scratched his soft stomach, apelike. He looked away and muttered something, but wouldn't meet Preston's eyes.

Preston was undeterred.

"How about something along these lines. 'Antoine, would you please get your feet off the table so I can set this wine down?'"

Antoine looked up, expression stormy, but took his feet down. He even leaned forward and wiped the top of the table with the back of his arm. He made a grunting sound, and slouched back in the couch.

"Thank you," Preston said with an overly saccharine tone.

"You're welcome," Antoine muttered thickly.

Preston sat down on the couch, and passed a glass of wine over to Antoine.

The blue-haired man took it, peered into the top for a second, then set it on the coffee table. "Hey," he interjected abruptly.

Preston looked up from his glass. "What?"

"I'm sorry."

Preston paused, lip of the glass inches from his mouth. He watched Antoine, but said nothing.

"I'm not trying to order you about. I just don't… I don't think of some things, you know? How it sounds."

Preston took a sip then patted Antoine's arm. "It's okay. I'm not mad or anything. Just, try and be a little more careful in your word choices, okay?"

Antoine gave Preston a wistful look. "I'll try. I make no promises." He took a sip of the wine. "Pretty good, isn't it?"

Preston nodded. "I've never had steel-casked wine before."

"It tastes different," Antoine observed as he swirled his glass, "but that's not a bad thing." He watched the wine slide down the sides of the glass to the remainder in the bowl. "It has nice, strong legs."

Preston raised his eyebrow. "You know what that means?"

Nodding, Antoine gestured to the glass. "The thinner the legs, the faster the wine falls, the lower the alcohol content. Thicker, slower falling legs mean a higher content." He took a sip.

"I know that," Preston confessed, "but I'm surprised you do."

"Self-taught," Preston replied.

The two men sat silently, and slowly finished the bottle.


	8. Interlude 2

Antoine lay under the sheets, blanket kicked somewhere on the floor. He'd gone to bed earlier than usual, feeling slightly sleepy from the wine. Preston had announced he was going to read for a bit. Antoine bade him well, and retired.

He rolled this way and that, trying to get comfortable. Finally, he found a position that seemed to work, and had nearly nodded off when he heard his bedroom door creak open, then shut. He felt the mattress. There was no need to say anything as Preston slid between the sheets next to him. A familiar, if not together frequent occurrence. Not touching, naturally, but close enough Antoine could feel the warmth from his skin.

A soft hand reached out, stroking his hair. Antoine nudged his head against Preston, appreciating the sensation. "Hey," he murmured.

"Hey yourself," Preston replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I'm glad you're here," Antoine muttered softly.

Preston's hand slid along Antoine's neck and shoulders. "Me too," he whispered.

Antoine shifted his body and rolled onto his back. He reached out an arm, knotting his fingers into Preston's tee-shirt. "You're going to be way too warm wearing this," he noted, giving Preston's shirt a light tug.

There was a flurry of movement and a rustle of cloth as Preston sat up and removed his shirt. "Better?" he asked.

Antoine smiled. "Yes."

Preston settled in next to him. Antoine felt Preston's soft hair and warm face on the bowl of his shoulder. He moved his arm, allowing Preston to nestle in against his chest. Antoine closed his eyes, though in the dark it hardly mattered, and ran a thumb along Preston's shoulders. He knew what would happen next. Preston would lean over, brush his lips across Antoine's, then settle in to sleep. Antoine was tired, but not in a sleeping mood.

Antoine felt Preston shift, propping himself up on an elbow for a good night kiss. _Now or never_ , Antoine thought. He reached up, grabbing Preston by the shoulders and easily pulled the thin man atop him in one rough yet tender motion.

He felt Preston's body, full length, against his own naked skin.

Preston gave a soft gasp of surprise, seemed almost on the verge of protesting.

Antoine wrapped his thick arms across Preston's back, and held him down: bare chest to bare chest. Heartbeat against heartbeat.

Preston squirmed slightly against Antoine's frame; and Antoine found the motion almost too much. He was feeling rather jammed up, his body pressed at an uncomfortable angle. Antoine, without shame, reached a hand down and readjusted himself. He felt Preston's own lust, as hard and rigid as his own, but still clothed. Antoine repositioned both, side by side.

Preston moaned softly, and shifted his legs over Antoine, the motion sending waves of pleasure through both of them. "You sleep in the nude," he whispered.

"I've been known to, when it's hot enough."

It was the only words spoken.

Preston drew his thin legs up, till he was crouched atop Antoine, arms tight around Antoine's neck. He pulled himself closer, tucking his head under Antoine's chin. Ordinarily, Antoine would've simply stroked Preston's hair, but tonight, that wasn't enough. Using his superior strength, he pushed Preston up to a sitting position, supporting him with a single hand in the center of Preston's chest. He trailed his left hand down Preston's flank, finally coming to rest at the curve of Preston's lean waist.

Antoine felt Preston shift his weight, unsure of what was next. Antoine kept his eyes tightly closed. He knew.

Slowly, he began coaxing Preston's body in a rocking motion against his, moving them both in a rhythmic motion against each other. He could hear Preston's breath quicken against their lengthening strokes, felt his own heart pounding his chest. Inspite of himself, Antoine moaned, and that seemed to encourage Preston.

Preston drove his hips against Antoine's flexing his legs to prolong the motion. Antoine responded in kind, pushing up as Preston moved down. The sensation was intense, Preston against every inch of him, the thin sleek body against his own. It was so much…

… Too much.

"No," Antoine whispered, his will wrenching his body to a halt. Blood pounding in his ears, he released his grip on Preston. "I can't." Too many thoughts flew through his mind, not the least of it, memories and shame. He threw his arms over Preston's shoulders and pulled the thin man against him in an almost crushing embrace.

"I'm sorry," Antoine whispered into Preston's ear, before turning his face away. He dropped his arms away, releasing Preston.

Preston hesitated a moment, and Antoine could practically feel the man's confusion; a palpable wave of bewilderment, and maybe some pain as well.

"Good night, Preston," Antoine muttered sadly. He rolled over, turning his back to Preston, but leaving enough space if Preston wanted to stay.

Preston said nothing, but Antoine felt him get up, heard him grab his shirt off the floor and leave. The door clicked shut softly behind him. Antoine covered his face with his hand, and breathed into his palm. He still hadn't opened his eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

Typically, Antoine was an early riser. By the time he'd woken up, slipped on a pair of pajama pants and stumbled to the kitchen Preston was already up, sipping a cup of cool coffee. Preston didn't look up as Antoine entered.

"Hey," Antoine greeted, unable to look in Preston's direction.

"Hey," replied Preston in the same guarded tone.

Antoine pulled out a bottle of coconut water and twisted the cap off with a loud pop. He shuffled to the table, and sat down across from Preston, eyes on the floor.

"So about last night…" he began, cracking his knuckles nervously.

"There's nothing about last night," Preston replied flatly. "Don't worry about it. It was the wine, nothing more."

Antoine dropped his chin in his palm, and slapped the side of his cheek with his thick fingers. "Yeah… no. It wasn't the wine. It was me." Antoine's eyes went everywhere, except towards Preston. "I shouldn't have done that to ya, Preppy." He struggled with his words. "I'm sorry, Preppy. I dunno. I just couldn't, you know? I wanted to, but… yeah…" his voice trailed off. He took a sip of his coconut water and drummed his bare feet against the floor anxiously.

Preston said nothing, didn't even look up.

"I mean, I don't even know anything about you. Well, I do; but not like that, you know? And I like you, I mean you're a great friend. I just have issues. A whole lot of them. Ya know?"

Preston raised his eyes, a go on gesture.

"I mean, I can't even get interested in, well, anyone, unless I already have some sort of connection with them. And I feel a connection with you, but I'm bad at this sort of stuff."

Preston had set down his coffee, and folded his hands neatly on the table in front of him.

"My therapist said a whole bunch of stuff, but the biggest three things were: I have attachment issues, I don't have any sense of boundaries, and I have no interest in interpersonal relationships. I guess it makes sense." He gave Preston a wry smile. "I'm a total headcase, huh. Sorry to put you into the mix. I shouldn't have ever let you start sleeping next to me at night. I should've known it would end fifty shades of fucked up." He swirled the coconut water in the bottle, then took a sip.

Preston merely listened, but he inched his hand across the table towards Antoine's. He tapped Antoine's fingers lightly.

Antoine looked down at Preston's hand.

"Are you gay?"

Antoine laughed. "Hah, not even! That would be too normal for me! According to the internet, I'm an aromantic demisexual, magical unicorn, fucked-up little snowflake." He took another sip of the coconut water. "Or something." He gave chuckled without humour. "But what do you expect, right? It would stand to figure I only feel attraction to someone I have a connection to, and I'm not capable of maintaining a normal relationship because I don't have the ability to invest emotionally."

Antoine continued: "I don't know if that last bit's the product of nature or nurture. I certainly didn't have anyone invest themselves emotionally in me. I don't really know how to do the give-and-take that relationships need. I'm kind of an ass, really." He shrugged. "I like to do things for attention."

Preston put his hand over Antoine's.

"Well, Antoine," Preston began, "I could believe your therapist on the first two: attachment and boundaries. But I don't believe that last one at all."

"No?"

Preston rubbed the bridge of his nose, then smiled unexpectedly. "Of course not. You know the first thing I saw when I got to my office, my first day back?"

"What?"

"That sticky note you posted on the door. The one that said 'Welcome back, Preppy.'" Preston smiled at the memory, despite the current mood. "That right there shows you were thinking of me. That, right there, is evidence to the contrary. If you didn't have interest in interpersonal relationships, you wouldn't have even bothered to post that note, and you definitely wouldn't have been waiting for me with a hot sandwich."

Antoine looked up, eyes flickering. "You really think so?"

Preston smiled. "I know so." Preston reached into his pocket and fished out his wallet.

"Why do you need your wallet at breakfast?" Antoine asked, confused.

"I carry it everywhere. That's not the point. Here, look." Preston opened it and fished out a small, yellow square of paper. He passed it over to Antoine. The barely legible handwriting was as recognizable as a signature.

Antoine took it, wonderingly. "My note…"

Preston gently took it back. "Yes. It made me smile. Still makes me smile. When I'm having a bad day, I look at it, and I don't feel quite so alone in all this." He patted Antoine's hand. "You're done a lot for me. More than you probably know." He stood up, and slid his chair in. "Do you want to go for a walk on the beach?"

Antoine, tapped his bare chest. "Me?"

"Yes, you. Do you see anyone else here?"

Antoine shook his head. "No, not really. Aside from you I mean." He glanced out the window at the rare, overcast morning. "It's kind of cloudy," he remarked dubiously.

Preston shrugged. "Then I won't burn, right?" In an odd reversal of roles he reached out and took Antoine's hands, luring him to his feet. "Let's go before it rains or something, alright?"

Antoine shrugged, expression politely befuddled, but nodded once. "Okay," he agreed.


	10. Chapter 10

Preston walked next to Antoine, lost in thought. Neither of them said anything. Preston in his shorts and tee shirt, Antoine wearing nothing but light cotton pajama pants. Preston found himself enjoying the moment. There was something about having Antoine's familiar frame at next to him that soothed him. It was as if he felt protected, somehow. If anything bad came his way, Antoine would deflect it with his indomitable personality, or perhaps even brute strength, and keep him safe from harm.

Preston resisted the urge to slip his hand into Antoine's. He wasn't sure how the other man would take it.

Preston had to admit in many ways he didn't know much about his housemate and assistant. He'd considered pulling Antoine's personal file from Human Resources when he got back from 'the Incident' in Springfield, but that seemed somehow an invasion of privacy. Despite his near obsessive need to maintain control over everything, Preston left Antoine's records untouched, and vowed to learn about the man the old fashioned way.

A coconut had washed up on the beach. Antoine veered over to it and kicked it with his bare foot. He drippled it like a soccer ball for a few yards, then gave it a lofting kick back into the ocean.

"Doesn't that hurt your feet?" Preston asked.

Antoine shook his head. "I played a lot of barefoot soccer. It's all in what part you hit."

"I see," replied Preston thoughtfully.

Another quarter mile passed before either man spoke again.

"I have trouble with people," Antoine began quietly, hesitating after each word as if uncertain how to proceed. "I, uh, I expect to be let down sooner or later, so I don't bother getting my hopes up anymore. It's not like I sit around feeling sorry for myself," he added, looking up. "It's mostly that I'm perfectly fine with acquaintances, but friendships don't come naturally to me."

The coconut, or another like it, had washed to shore up ahead. Oblivious to the fact his pants were getting soaked, Antoine capered into the foam, and sent it flying again.

Preston watched, trying not to get distracted by the easy grace that Antoine moved; the curve of his tanned back, the shape of his legs where the wet cloth clung. He didn't even know what _demisexual_ or _aromantic_ meant. All he really wondered was what that meant for him. In his mind's eye, Preston could easily picture them together in a passionate embrace, sharing a bed at night, with no intent to sleep. Antoine was so far and away removed from the types of men Preston typically found himself attracted to: lean and muscled, short cropped hair, and tan bodies glistening from oil.

Of course, Preston thought as Antoine turned away from the ocean and loped back, having a type hardly mattered when recently he couldn't even bring himself to talk to another man in _that_ way. Not since "The Incident" at AlkaliStark, and definitely not since moving in with Antoine. Whatever spark Preston had once felt seemed to have gone dormant since getting shot. The fact that he even wanted anything with Antoine? Preston figured that alone made Antoine special in his eyes.

He watched as Antoine fell into step beside him, and hitched up the waistband of his pants.

"The water's making my pants wet," Antoine remarked, stating the obvious. "They keep sliding down." He paused and re-tied the drawstring tighter. "That's better," he said decisively, and hurried to catch up with Preston.

Preston paused, waiting patiently.

Antoine trotted. "Oh yeah, I almost forgot one other thing my therapist said. According to her, I'm also 'emotionally stunted.' Whatever that means."

Preston smirked. "I guess that means you like video games and playing soccer with coconuts."

Antoine grinned. "Then that's a good thing!" He beamed proudly, and went back after the coconut that was making its way to the beach once again. Persistent little coconut.

* * *

"You know," Antoine remarked as he sauntered along beside Preston, "I'm kind a surprised you're speaking to me at all, after last night and all." His face was a mix of optimism and shame.

Preston sighed inwardly. He reached out and grasped Antoine's thick hand with his. "I probably should feel rejected, but honestly, I don't. You're different than most men." He gave Antoine's hand a squeeze before letting go. "I don't really have much to compare against when it comes to you."

Antoine glanced at their hands. "Why'd you let go?" he asked, voice soft.

"I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

"You're not making me feel uncomfortable." Antoine held out his hand, and wrapped his fingers around Preston's. They walked in silence. Preston found there was something comfortable and innocent, though not completely platonic, about holding hands with Antoine. Here, where on the empty beach, the rigid demeanor that Preston strove to present to the world wasn't needed. For the first time in forever it seemed, he wasn't thinking about his job. He was not Preston Tucci: Personal Assistant; nor was he Preston Tucci: Chief Executive Officer. No. He was just Preston, or maybe even _Preppy_ , and he liked it.

* * *

It was starting to rain by the time they got back, not a heavy cold rain, but the warm sweet tropical rain that feels good to be out in. Antoine's blue hair was plastered to his scalp, and he periodically shook himself like a dog, sending water all over Preston.

"If I wasn't already wet," that would bother me, Preston remarked, smiling.

Antoine laughed, eyes twinkling, but said nothing more. He held the door for Preston out of habit, and followed him inside. They stood, sopping but happy in the entry way. Preston started wringing out his shirt without removing it, creating a small pool of water at their feet. He was so preoccupied with his own business that he hadn't noticed Antoine had removed his pajama pants until they landed with a wet splat on the tiled floor. "Gonna get a towel," Antoine remarked.

Preston looked up in time to watch Antoine's unclad backside disappear into the bathroom. Preston paused, distracted. The man was tan everywhere. Preston swallowed, or tried to, but his mouth had suddenly gone dry.

Antoine emerged a split second later, bath towel tied around his waist, a second one wrapped around his shoulders. He handed two to Preston, then wandered into his bedroom. "You can just leave your wet stuff there. I'll hang 'em outside. Yell when you're decent," he called out before shutting the door.

Preston, ever self-conscious, stood in the entry way debating with himself. He really didn't want to walk across the carpet in wet clothes, but he wasn't sure he felt comfortable stripping down in the middle of their open bungalow.

After several minutes of waging his own private war, he finally relented. He stripped down quickly, and hastily wrapped a towel around his thin waist. As an afterthought, he grabbed his briefs and wrapped them in the other towel.

Preston's rational mind told him it wasn't like Antoine had never seen underwear before; but Preston's innate modesty extended even to his under-garments. He scurried into his room to finish drying off, and slip on some new clothes.


	11. Chapter 11

Preston sat down with his tablet in his lap, scrolling the internet for articles on "demisexuality" while Antoine took a shower.

It was all terribly confusing. In Preston's rather direct mind, there were only two sexual orientations: straight and gay. Possibly three, if you counted "bisexual," though he tended to think of that as a synonym for "confused."

Then again, it had been several years since he sat down to look up sexuality on the internet. It appeared a great deal had changed. Pansexuality? What on earth even was that? Preston shook his head. It was all very confusing. "Whatever happened to just being gay?" Preston muttered in annoyance as he scrolled through yet another webpage.

He was so focused on reading that he hadn't even heard the shower stop, didn't notice until Antoine sauntered into the living room wearing cargo shorts and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, and flopped down on the couch. "Whatcha reading, Preppy?" he asked, craning his neck over Preston's shoulder.

Preston pulled the tablet away. "Nothing! I'm reading nothing."

Antoine folded his arms behind his head. "Looks to me like you're reading about different sexualities and stuff."

"Maybe I am," Preston replied, annoyed. "What of it? I'm trying to understand you."

Antoine scratched his head. "Or you could just ask me. Really, I've got no shame, and definitely no secrets around you. So go ahead, ask away. I'm not some encyclopedia, so I can't speak for other people, but I can at least speak for me.

Preston sighed and put down the tablet. He felt oddly awkward discussing such a topic with Antoine. Still, if he had to consider where their friendship was going. What was it now anyways? Not platonic anymore; but they weren't exactly physical either. Antoine's phrase of "hetero lifemate" didn't fit any better.

"Okay," Preston began, taking a deep breath. "What's this all mean for you?"

Antoine shrugged. "Well, basically, I'm not particularly into anyone. I might see someone who I think looks good-"

"-Like those girls at the Lucky Lady who you're always talking about getting phone numbers from?"

"Eh, that's more of a normalcy thing. I'm not really interested in getting anyone's phone number, but I can appreciate the aesthetics of the female form."

"But you're not into women?"

Antoine shrugged.

"So you're into men," Preston reasoned.

Antoine shook his head. "No, not so much. I'm not really _into_ anyone. That's kind of the point."

Preston remembered another term he'd read on the internet. "So… asexual?"

Antoine blushed slightly. "Do you really need to ask that after last night?" he scoffed.

Now it was Preston's turn to blush. "Probably not," he muttered, face turning beet red.

Antoine laughed good-naturedly. "I didn't think so." He looked at the ceiling, regarded the fan thoughtfully for a moment before turning back to Preston. "No. I'm sort of in the middle between the two. I'm not attracted to anyone on the surface, per se. But once I get to know someone, then I can find myself quite attracted to them." He held up a hand. "However, since I'm generally _not_ interested in getting to know _anyone_ , the issue's irrelevant. And I stay single. Which I'm fine with."

Preston nodded, trying to digest Antoine's words.

"So, when you say you're 'aromantic,' what's that mean?" Preston asked.

Antoine chuckled. "Well, according to the internet, the source of all knowledge and wisdom, it means someone who doesn't get crushes. You know, the light on your feet, butterflies in the stomach stuff that your novels seem to be full of."

Preston shook his head. "You held hands with me."

"Yes."

"But that doesn't mean anything to you."

Antoine raised a finger in objection. "Wrong, Prep. It means a lot, but it's because I'm holding hands with _you_. If it was someone else, or I didn't have this bond with you, then it wouldn't mean a thing." He shrugged. "Inherently romantic activities," he made quotation marks in the air, "they simply aren't interesting for me. Or, when I do the so-called romantic activities, I don't feel romantic about it."

"That doesn't really make sense to me," Preston confessed.

Antoine shrugged. "It doesn't have to. All I'm getting at is, regardless of my past adventures, I don't feel an emotional need to be in a romantic relationship; and to even consider an intimate, or potentially romantic relationship, I have to already feel some sort of bond, a connection, with someone."

Antoine paused and thought for a moment. "You know how most people see someone they think looks attractive, get tingly for that person, then decide to start a relationship? Isn't that how it usually works?"

Preston didn't have much experience in such matters. Thought he'd dated in college, he'd never settled into anything "serious." He thought about his own feelings towards Antoine. It made sense. He'd, in spite of himself, started checking Antoine out, then getting to know him better between work and nights the work crew would meet for drinks at the nearby bar… It was a gradual series of steps to finally coming and curling up together some nights; but it seemed to follow the process Antoine outlined as 'normal.'

"Yes, I know that process," he replied carefully.

Antoine stretched an arm across the back of the couch behind Preston's shoulders. "Well, for me it kinda works in reverse. I find myself getting to know someone, usually inadvertently. And from that, if we're lucky a friendship starts to develop. And then, if I'm very lucky, I wind up feeling warm-fuzzies and attracted to that person." Antoine's arm slid down around Preston's neck. "It generally doesn't get that far though. Pretty much never. And that's probably some of my hang-ups right there. I don't feel comfortable with that level of emotional intimacy in a relationship long before the idea of physical intimacy even enters the equation."

Preston wasn't sure what to say. He folded his hands in his lap, and looked down. "Oh," was all he could manage to say.

Antoine's warm hand was on his neck, giving him a friendly shake. "What's with the long face, Prep?"

Preston wrung his hands together. "It's just… well… what does this mean for us?"

"Us?" Antoine repeated, curious.

Preston nodded. "Yes. I mean, where do we go from here?" It was something he was afraid to ask, but it was something he could not ignore.

Antoine shook his head. "I really don't understand the question."

"Does this mean you're not attracted to me?" He looked up, regarding Antoine wistfully.

Antoine furrowed his brow for a minute, then gave a chuckling snort. He covered his mouth, and laughed full behind his hand, eyes shining.

Preston watched, hopelessly confused.

"Oh my sweet, innocent, naïve little PreppyDog," Antoine laughed, throwing his arms around Preston and pulling the thin man against his chest. "Haven't you been listening to anything I've said?" He grinned and ruffled Preston's hair. "I am completely attracted to you, Prep! To you," he gave Preston a squeeze for emphasis. "It's not your clothes, or your hair, or your body, or any of that. It's what's in here," he tapped Preston's chest, just above the heart; "and what's in here!" He tapped Preston's forehead. "That, the very parts that make you _you_ are what attract me to the entire package!"

Preston felt himself relaxing into Antoine's bear hug. It was rough, and tender, and enthusiastic all in one. He closed his eyes happily. Much to his shock, he felt Antoine's lips on his cheek.

"It wouldn't matter if your clone came prancing naked down the street, I wouldn't give that mimic a second glance. And you, well, if there is an 'us' like you mentioned, then it won't matter if you get old and grey or fat and bald, because you'll still be Preston 'Preppy' Tucci, and that's why I like you so!"

Preston made a happy, squeaky sigh; cradled against Antoine's soft flank.

"Maybe we have sex, maybe we don't. Maybe this goes somewhere, maybe it doesn't. I don't know, it's almost not important to me. I mean it is… but the most important thing is having you. Because I like you, and I enjoy your company. I like the way you fill the house. I like knowing you're around."

Preston felt Antoine pushing him up for a moment. He opened his eyes. Antoine's face was peering into his, expression kind. "For the record, I'm not interested in anyone else but you, in any way; and I'd be utterly devastated if you decided to start seeing someone else. We might not be a couple exactly, but yeah… we're us. And I like that… you know?"

Preston wrapped his hands around Antoine's arms, holding them tight. Preston might not know what Antoine was feeling right at that moment, but he knew what he was feeling: that same-said light and airy feeling. Butterflies in the stomach; giddy with anticipation. "I understand now," he replied, his heart fluttering in his chest.

They drew one another close and kissed, once, quickly on the lips. Antoine wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, blushed, then laughed. His eyes twinkled.

Preston gave Antoine a gentle poke in the side. " 'Hey Mikey, I think he likes it,'" he replied with a wink.

It was clear his use of pop culture quotations caught Antoine off guard. Those blue eyebrows raised in surprise, then he dropped his head and chuckled warmly. "See, you do get it." He pulled Preston against him once again, and ran his fingers through Preston's short, wavy hair.

Preston buried his face against Antoine's side and made a happy sound. He gets it, indeed, he thought blissfully.


	12. Chapter 12

Antoine and Preston finished out the rest of the week on the island in much the same way as it began; the typical gamut of beach days, nice meals out, and quiet time at home.

By the end of the week, Preston had to admit he would miss the place.

"Hey, it's a vacation," Antoine had replied jovially. "It's not like we can't take another one sometime. The ocean's been here for years. I'm sure it'll be around at least a little longer." He grinned and crammed all his belongings haphazardly into his suitcase. After finally wrestling it shut, Antoine offered to help Preston pack.

It was an offer Preston politely declined.

"So," Antoine began as they headed the long trip home, "what do you think you'll do when you get back to Plateau?"

Preston tightened his lips. "I'll probably go talk to Rhonda, see if she has some pointers for how I can be a more efficient CEO."

Antoine nodded. "That's a good start."

"I might need you to take on a bit more administrative stuff while I get my feet under me," Preston confessed.

Antoine shrugged. "Sure, that's fine. Hey, and maybe sometime I can work down in infrastructure too. I have a bit of a knack for maintenance and fixing things. Since I'm not flying so much, I still want to earn my keep."

"I don't think that'll be a problem," Preston replied. He rubbed his lips thoughtfully. "I really needed this vacation."

"I know you did."

"It's going to be rough getting back into the routine of work."

Antoine chuckled. "When exactly was the last time you took a vacation, Preppy?"

Preston shook his head. "The last one was with my parents, a long time ago."

"Hey, don't worry. I find it's generally pretty easy to get back into the swing of things. It's like riding a bike. You never forget."

Preston smiled at the analogy. "Except running a nuclear plant is like trying to ride a bike when you haven't fully learned."

Antoine shrugged. "You'll sort it out. Heck, even Waylon might have some pointers. He's run the Springfield plant a few times when Burnsie decides to disappear from time to time. You got resources out there; so use them." Antoine gave Preston a friendly poke in the thigh: "And, you'll still have me. Why, we'll be unstoppable. Or something. Maybe you'll be unstoppable. But every rockstar needs a groupie, so… I'm your man! Whaddaya say?"

Preston rubbed his forehead and felt a warmth creep into his cheeks. "Aww, I wouldn't expect anything less, you deck ape you."

Antoine snorted. "'Deck ape?' Isn't that sailor slang or something?"

Preston shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. I heard it on a movie once. For some reason, it made me think of you."

Antoine slung his luggage off the baggage carousel and grabbed Preston's bags easily. "Deck ape, eh?" He muttered as he slung all their gear across his back without a thought. "I don't see how you can make that comparison at all."

Preston reached up and put a hand on Antoine's shoulder, affection clearly evident in the gesture.

"I have no idea, my friend; none whatsoever." Despite the residual apprehension of returning to the plant, a laugh was making its way up. Preston Tucci threw back his head and gave a snorting belly laugh. He didn't stop until water leaked from his eyes.

Antoine stood, watching, expression neutral.

"Better now?" he asked as Preston wiped his glasses with the corner of his shirt.

"Yes," Preston replied. "I think so."

"Good," Antoine replied with a toothy grin. "I tell ya what, Preppy, I'm actually looking forward to getting back to work with you."

Preston chuckled. "You know what's damndest thing about everything?"

"No. What?"

"I'm actually looking forward to getting back to work with you too!"


End file.
